


lay them to rest

by sunnilee



Series: best laid plans [lay them to rest] [5]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining, but please let these two have some LOVE, maybe both of them, rating for language and the ending..., somebody's gonna burst, when tensions run high, words to the feeling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24394408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnilee/pseuds/sunnilee
Summary: It's Sylvain's birthday, and no one has ever accused Dorothea of being a bad gift giver.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault & Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Dorothea Arnault & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: best laid plans [lay them to rest] [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1745746
Comments: 18
Kudos: 57
Collections: Sylvgrid week 2020





	lay them to rest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nicole_writes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole_writes/gifts).



> bc she wrote the loveliest gift for me... without knowing I wrote something remarkably similar at the same time. 
> 
> same brain space, same hill to die on.
> 
> please take and enjoy all 13 pages of this document. love u :).

Ingrid tugs at the hem of the white dress nervously, grimacing at the way it shifts the sweetheart neckline even lower. She looks back in the mirror and blushes at the way her collarbone and shoulders are completely bared.

She bites her lip and shifts side to side, casting shadows along the wrapped bodice, skirt fluttering mid-thigh. It’s not that she doesn’t _like_ the way she looks in the dress… it’s just, _not her_.

Even though she isn’t showing _that_ much skin, considering the puff sleeves that end at her wrists, it still feels _odd._ To have nothing covering her from her neck to… just under her shoulders. Ingrid fumbles with the dress again before sighing, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. “Dorothea, are you… are you sure about this? It feels…” She struggles with her words. “Too much.”

“Show me!” A swift knock sounds on her dressing room door and Ingrid cracks it open, Dorothea pushing her way through. A soft gasp escapes her friend’s lips. “Oh, Ingrid…”

Ingrid nervously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s too much, isn’t it? I know I said I wanted to dress up because it’s a special occasion, yes, but doesn’t this seem—Dorothea!” She squeaks in surprise as Dorothea quickly moves behind her and shifts the neckline, to her mortification, even _lower._ Her hands automatically fly up to cover her chest, but Dorothea immediately shoos them away.

She’s blushing to her toes as her friend adjusts the sleeves on her shoulders to show _more_ skin and straightens out the skirt of the dress. Dorothea clicks her tongue in satisfaction and Ingrid’s eyes hesitantly meet hers in the mirror. Dorothea smiles softly, hands turning her fully toward her reflection again and brushing some of her hair over an exposed shoulder. “You look lovely, Ingrid.”

Ingrid fidgets with her sleeves and looks at herself once more, butterflies in her stomach, thinking about why she asked Dorothea to go shopping in the first place. “I—”

“See? You _can_ dress up for a special occasion and attract someone at the same time.”

“I don’t need to _attract_ anyone! This is just for his—”

“He won’t be able to keep his eyes off you,” Dorothea sings, the curve of her mouth growing wicked, hands now re-tying the sash at her waist, fingers deftly knotting a neat bow. “You’re like a little present, waiting for him to unwrap—”

She hurriedly pushes her laughing friend out of the dressing room, cheeks flaming, heart pounding in her chest.

“Don’t forget to wear the necklace he bought for you! That’ll really get him going—”

“Dorothea, enough!”

Feeling lightheaded, she braces her hands against the door and takes a moment to just _breathe,_ closing her eyes and willing her mind to _stop racing._ Ingrid takes one last look in the mirror and exhales shakily. She _does_ like the dress…

And now she’s nervous if Sylvain will like it too.

…And what she’ll do if he _does_.

* * *

_1 week later…_

“Ingrid! I’m so sorry I’m late, one of the meetings ran over and I—”

Sylvain had just slid into his seat across from Ingrid, still out of breath from running, when his throat closes at the sight of her, making it _significantly_ harder for him to catch his breath.

Ingrid looks up from her phone and smiles, something small and pretty and _just for him_ , the jade pendant he bought for her in Sreng for Christmas dangling around her neck, reflecting the blue light of her phone. “It’s okay. It’s your birthday dinner, Sylvain. Not mine.”

She reaches her arms up and sweeps all her hair over one shoulder, the other now completely exposed and bare. Sylvain thinks his heart stops.

Head spinning, he clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Still, I shouldn’t keep you waiting. Especially when Felix and Dimitri couldn’t make it today either.”

Ingrid blushes curiously at the mention of their best friends, eyes dropping to study something on the tablecloth, and he feels his heart restart erratically. “A-anyway, thanks for coming out, Ingrid. I know it’s busy for you guys, at the start of your internships and everything.”

Her gaze returns to him and Sylvain is trying his hardest to keep his eyes on her _face_ , and _not_ the expanse of skin below her collarbone. He’s maybe two seconds away from throwing his jacket over her shoulders to cover her up because _his_ eyes might not be drifting, but that table two rows down _doesn’t seem to have manners_ and he makes a mental note to send Dorothea a _scathing_ text later, because he just _knows_ this is her doing—

“Of course, Sylvain. It’s your birthday. You celebrated mine with me when no one else could. The least I could do is return the favor.”

At her words, Sylvain feels a tiny prick of disappointment in his chest but smiles anyway. “Well, let’s order some food then. I’m sure you’re hungry, waiting for me. Anything you want, Ingrid. It’s on me.”

Her lips quirk down, brow creasing. “Sylvain, this dinner is for you, you don’t have to pay for me.”

He shakes his head adamantly, remembering her frustrated tears from the Christmas party two years ago over her family's financial and health struggles, and the confusion on her face when he showed up on her doorstep just hours before her birthday. “You’re spending all this time with me on my birthday, Ingrid. It means a lot to me, really. Just let me pay for you.”

He sees her open her mouth to insist otherwise, but he cuts her off, already flipping the menu open to look for the restaurant’s highest quality meats. “Consider it your present to me. For my birthday.”

Sylvain hears her splutter and he whips his head up, worry spiking through him. “Ingrid? You okay?”

Ingrid quickly grabs her glass of water and takes several large gulps, the previous blush on her face spreading down her neck. Sylvain pointedly keeps his eyes trained on her face, and _not_ on the way her dress shifts with her arms—

After a few more sips, Ingrid sets her glass down and exhales as evenly as she can. “Y-yes, I’m fine. But Sylvain, really, you don’t need to pay—”

He reaches over the table and covers one of her clenched fists. “Ingrid, I want to do this. Let me do this for you, please?”

Her fingers twitch against his palm and she lets out a breath he didn’t realize she was holding in. Ingrid finally meets his eyes again, the low light of the restaurant softening her features, and Sylvain is sharply taken back again, to that New Year’s party at Dimitri’s when she leaned heavily onto his shoulder, the smell of her overwhelming his senses, as she laced her fingers with his and told him she was glad he was home.

His heart had beat painfully in his chest in the weeks that came after, especially when she curled up against him on her birthday, as he carried her back to her bed from her spot on the floor, where he’s sure she caught him baking her a birthday cake in the early hours of the morning. And again, when she patched him up after that unfortunate bar fight last month, that almost led him to spill all of his secrets, just so she would stay close to him.

For a little while longer.

 _The pain doesn’t get any easier,_ he thinks bitterly, as the knot in his chest twists again when Ingrid nods silently and pulls her hand from underneath his and into her lap. Withdrawing his own hand, Sylvain busies himself with handing the menu over to her, pages already flipped open to the restaurant’s selection of steaks.

The throbbing ache in his heart recedes, just a little, when the familiar twinkle returns to Ingrid’s eyes as she flips through the different options available. His eyes drift to the pendant resting against the hollow of her throat, and he wonders if he should crush the hope that festers in his chest.

Before it crushes him.

* * *

With the last piece of meat safely tucked away in her mouth, Ingrid leans back from the table with a content sigh. Her stomach had lurched uncomfortably when Sylvain first offered to pay, her skin tingling where his hand covered hers…

But he’d looked so genuine and _earnest_ , the words she was about to fight him with died on her lips. Instead, she retreated a bit back into herself, and withdrew her hand from under his, to hold onto the little bit of pride she allowed herself to have.

Then, the menu was shoved to her hands, pages flipped to the steaks, and Ingrid couldn’t help the smile that slipped onto her face. It was _his_ birthday, but he’s treating her to _her_ favorites. She shook her head slightly and looked up to find him distracted by something over her shoulder, eyebrows furrowed.

Four years ago, she might’ve admonished him for making eyes at strangers while she was with him, but his gaze flicked back to her and his forehead smoothed out, grin back on his face. “Did you pick something?”

When she looks at him _now_ , he’s got this fond, amused twitch of his lips that Ingrid just _knows_ what’s coming next. “What?”

He laughs and moves the last few pieces of his meal onto her plate, eyes twinkling. “It’s weirdly soothing watching you just shovel it right in there. What’s with the appetite today?”

Even though she expected the quip, Ingrid still feels herself flush. “I can’t help it, okay? You were 30 minutes late and I had an early lunch…”

Sylvain’s grin grows wider as she forks the rest of his food into her mouth, despite her embarrassment. “I should take you to Sreng with me, go on a gourmet journey around the country.”

Ingrid’s heart throbs at the softness on his face. Setting her fork down, she leans her elbows on the table. “That sounds like fun.”

Surprise takes over, as if he just registered what he said out loud. “You’d come to Sreng with me?”

Her mouth moves faster than her she can catch it. “I’d go anywhere with you.”

The two of them freeze, and Ingrid is pretty sure there’s steam coming out of her ears. She stammers, “I-I mean, you know you can’t get along without me following in your shadow and caring for you.”

The line of his shoulders stiffens briefly before they take on a measured laxity that Ingrid has seen hundreds of times before, _whenever he’s keeping something from her._ “Hey now, I thought I did pretty well for myself after college.”

His eyes are just a little bit duller than before, a wry smile in place of the small one that warms her entire body. She shakes her head and sighs. “You did. I know. I’m sorry, just… habit.”

Ingrid looks at him and some of that dullness fades, the softness coming back. “No, you’re right. I’ve been thinking about it, and I really depend on you. Maybe that’s weird since I’m older than you, but still…”

A pleasant buzzing settles over the surface of her skin, her heart jumping into her throat. Silence falls between them and Ingrid fidgets in her seat, unable to find the words she wants to say, nor the courage it takes to say them.

Then, a server brushes past her and Ingrid sends a quick _thank you_ to the goddess for the distraction. “Excuse me, does your dessert menu have any cakes?”

She hears Sylvain snort across from her, but she pointedly ignores him. “It’s my…” her voice catches briefly, trying to describe her relationship with Sylvain, before she pushes through, “it’s my best friend’s birthday today. _He_ might not care about it, but I do.”

The server looks between the two of them, studying the sudden shift at the table. “Of course. Happy birthday, sir. I’ll bring something out in a moment, miss.”

As he leaves, Ingrid sighs and leans back in her seat, feeling that awkwardness return now that it was just the two of them again, and Sylvain has a strange look on his face. The one she can’t read. It makes her stomach flop uneasily. Before she can press him about it, the server returns with a small plate and spoon, a piece of yellow cake topped with fresh cream and berries, and a scoop of ice cream on the side. There was even a candle, flame flickering as it was set down on the table.

Ingrid smiles. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re very welcome, miss. Happy birthday again, sir. Enjoy your evening.”

Even after the server has left, Sylvain still hasn’t moved a muscle, that expression hasn’t budged either. Ingrid raises an eyebrow. “Well?” She gestures to the plate with her chin. “Make a wish. The wax is starting to drip.”

He blinks at her, and then at the cake in front him, like he didn’t even realize it was there. A few more blinks later, Ingrid is about to reach over and snap her fingers in front of his face to _wake him up_ , when he closes his eyes and blows out the candle.

Sylvain’s eyes open and stare directly into hers, and she’s struck by the gold in them. _Again._ She clears her throat. “What did you wish for?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up, and a different emotion flashes across his face before it’s gone, his teasing voice replacing it. “I can’t tell you that. It won’t come true if I do.”

She rolls her eyes and plucks the candle out of the cake, setting it to the side. “Whatever you say.”

Ingrid picks up the spoon and carves out a piece of cake, loading it with strawberries, when Sylvain laughs abruptly. “Swiping all the good bits for yourself, huh? Isn’t the birthday boy supposed to take the first bite?”

She scoffs, “I’ve _told_ you before, I don’t resort to thievery when it comes to food.”

She continues filling the spoon and tops it off with a little bit of ice cream, and then lifts it to his face, meeting his widening eyes. She bites a back a smile. “Well come on, birthday boy. Take your first bite.”

Ingrid shakes the spoon a little when he doesn’t move. “Don’t make me wait forever.”

Sylvain’s eyes dart from her to the spoon and back to her, the redness spreading across his cheeks making her skin tingle. Then without further preamble, he holds her gaze and leans forward, mouth closing around the cake she scooped for him. Heat shoots down her spine as he continues to look at her, spoon between his lips.

Inhaling sharply, Ingrid withdraws quickly and busies herself with scooping up several pieces of cake and shoving it into her mouth in rapid succession, _blatantly_ pushing aside the thought that _it was in his mouth two seconds ago—_

Sylvain laughs and her eyes flash to his. Her favorite small smile is back, and her heart skips a beat. “What, you aren’t going to feed me again?”

Ingrid feels a blush climb up her neck. “Was that your wish?”

He laughs again and shakes his head, that smile still there. “Not quite.” Then he winks at her. “Maybe a close second.”

She almost chucks the spoon at him, but that gold in his eyes gleams so brightly… _maybe her embarrassment is worth it_. Ingrid spoons up some more ice cream and cake and holds it out for him. “A close second it is then.”

He doesn’t hesitate this time, leaning forward again and eating the cake she offers him. Her legs squeeze together under the table and her dress feels tight as he licks his lips, eyes playful and teasing. She gulps. “Happy birthday, Sylvain.”

He smiles at her as she hurriedly sticks another piece of cake in her mouth. “Thanks, Ingrid.”

They continue trading off bites of the dessert, a comfortable silence settling around them as they finish off the cake. The server comes and goes, taking the empty plate and Sylvain’s card with him. That slight pang of discomfort comes back as she watches him sign the bill, but it’s quickly taken over by a tightening coil in her chest when Sylvain looks up at her and smiles again. “Ready to go?”

Blood rushing to her face, she stands abruptly and stumbles as her knee knocks against the table. Sylvain shoots out of his chair and steadies her. “You okay?”

Her knee throbs, but it still doesn’t distract her from the heat of his palms at her elbow and lower back. “I’m fine. I forgot I was wearing heels.”

Ingrid reaches down to rub at her bruised knee, when her vision is suddenly obscured by something dark and warm. Arms flying up, her hands fumble until they find the edge of the fabric and she lifts her head from underneath it. _Sylvain’s jacket_. Her eyes find him looking off to the side, ears red, one hand covering his mouth. She stares at him questioningly when he refuses to meet her gaze.

She shifts the jacket on her shoulders, glad for the warmth because she was getting cold… but Sylvain is still pointedly looking everywhere but her. She nudges him and he jumps. “Sylvain?”

His hand falls from his face and he shoves it quickly into his pocket. “S-sorry. Just, your dress… it’s…” he trails off as his eyes jump from her legs and then back to a spot over her shoulder, the redness of his face spreading down his neck. “It’s short.”

Ingrid feels her entire body flush, Dorothea's words flashing in her mind, _he won’t be able to keep his eyes off you_ , but also, _annoyance._ “What’s that supposed to mean—”

She’s cut off when Sylvain’s arm shoots out and wraps around her waist, pulling her roughly into his side, and starts navigating them quickly out of the restaurant. Tucked securely against him, his warmth seeping into her, Ingrid momentarily forgets why she’s angry at all.

Once they’re outside, Sylvain whips his arm away from her like she’s burned him. “I’m sorry, Ingrid. I didn’t mean to insult you or manhandle you, I just—You look great. Really.”

Despite the evening chill, Ingrid flushes again, Dorothea’s _and_ Sylvain’s words parading through her mind again, _you’re like a little present_ and _consider it your present to me_ , as she watches him run a frantic hand through his hair. “There was this table of two guys a few rows down and I just… I didn’t like the way they were looking at you.”

She stays rooted to where she stands, warmth blooming in her chest at the sheepish smile on his face when he looks at her again. “I wasn’t about to throw punches in an upstanding restaurant after last time, so—”

Without thinking twice, Ingrid strides forward. Before her nerves can get the better of her, she leans up and presses a soft kiss to his cheek, murmuring, “thank you.”

When she leans away, she can practically feel the heat radiating off his face. _Or maybe it’s her face?_ “F-for what?”

She steps back and pulls his jacket tighter around herself. _She’s not sure either._ She shrugs and looks down, studying her fingernails. _Or maybe she’s afraid, too scared to put words to the feelings yet. Without knowing how he feels. What she is to him._ So, she ignores his question. “Where to next?”

Sylvain blinks at her, mind still catching up to the burning skin of his cheek. He sees her mouth moving, but he can’t hear her over the blood pounding in his ears.

Ingrid never looked smaller, wrapped in his jacket. His breath stuttered violently when she stood up in the restaurant, the dress high on her thighs, neckline low on her chest. His eyes immediately averted themselves to find that same table from earlier eyeing his best friend with unveiled interest. His arms were shucking off his jacket before he realized it, dropping it over her head as he fought to calm his racing heart and will the blush off his face.

Then, she peeked her head out from his jacket and Sylvain is pretty sure he died for a second, seeing how cute she looked.

A warmth circles around his wrist, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Sylvain?”

His head whips to her, chest tight as she looks at him in concern. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“I said, how about a sleepover, for old times’ sake?”

If his brain didn’t malfunction before, it certainly did now. As he stares at her, Sylvain wonders if he’s having a fever dream.

It’s not like Ingrid hasn’t slept over before. In fact, she did it all the time back in college on particularly long study nights in the library, his apartment being much closer to campus than hers...

Yet here he was, now a 24 year old man, with a very beautiful best friend he has feelings for but hasn’t done anything about except _unsuccessfully deny them_ , and she’s wearing this _white_ dress that was _most definitely_ designed to _kill_ him and she _wants to spend the night with him on his birthday—_

“Oh, I don’t have any other clothes though—”

“You can borrow some of mine.”

Sylvain kicks himself and mentally signs his own death certificate in his head. _Name of the deceased: Sylvain Jose Gautier. Cause of death: asphyxiation by way of foot in mouth syndrome—_

His heart stops when the warmth around his wrist moves to encase his hand. “Okay, let’s go.”

As Ingrid tugs him along toward his apartment, Sylvain starts drafting an excel sheet, estimating the hospital bill he’s going to send Dorothea after tonight is over.

 _If he makes it through without doing something incredibly_ , incredibly, _stupid._

* * *

Ingrid rushes into Sylvain’s apartment as soon as he’s unlocked the door, racing to get out of her heels. Breathing a sigh of relief once they’re off, she bounces over to his couch and flops backward on it, his jacket splaying out beneath her, a content smile on her face. Her belly and heart full after dinner with her best friend. “That was such a good meal, Sylvain. How did you find the restaurant?”

Silence stretches over the apartment and Ingrid looks over to Sylvain, who still stands frozen by the door, that look on his face again. Her heart thumps painfully against her ribs. “Sylvain?”

He blinks, her voice breaking whatever trance he’s in and he shakes his head. He shuts the door behind him and joins her on the couch, lifting her legs into his lap so he can sit. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been… thinking.”

She sits up, her skin burning where his hands rest on her legs. “Is that what the strange look is for?”

His eyes shift to her and her spine tingles. “I just, uh… well, you’re going to think I’m being a jerk or hitting on you or whatever… but when we’re together like this, I feel—I don’t know—oddly at ease.”

The tingling spreads to her fingertips and she forces herself to nod. “I know what you mean. It’s probably because we’ve been friends for so long.”

She almost bites her tongue, with the way a bitterness coats her mouth when the word ‘ _friends’_ leaves her lips. It doesn’t seem… quite right to describe them like that anymore. _Or maybe, she just wishes she could describe them as_ more _than that._

His fingers absently trail along her legs as her words settle between them. The pit in her stomach grows deeper and she fidgets under his touch when his palm lies flat on her skin, his voice filled with something she doesn’t dare name. “That must be it.”

Sylvain falls quiet after that and the air shifts around them. Ingrid’s heart pounds harder in her chest and it feels like it’s about to _burst_ if she doesn’t _say_ something, as she looks at him staring at nothing in particular, with her legs thrown over his like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

She swallows against the lump in her throat. Her hands are trembling, but she reaches out and clasps the hand on her legs, squeezing tight. Sylvain’s eyes drift to her and Ingrid feels the air in her lungs rush out of her. The unmasked _longing_ reflected back at her, the kind she sees in her own whenever she looks in the mirror, in the gold that gleams even with just the low light from the streetlamps outside—and all of a sudden, she’s done burying her feelings.

“Sylvain, what am I to you?”

She feels his pulse jump against her skin. _She hopes she didn’t imagine it_. Her eyes are trained on his as he blinks slowly, studying her. His words come cautiously, his muscles tensing beneath her. “You’re my friend… one of my oldest, in fact.”

Part of her wants to deflate, but the other part prods her to _keep going_. She inhales shakily and tightens her hold on his hand. “Is… is that all I am?”

He tenses even further under her and Ingrid wonders if she’s pushed him too far. She’s about to swing her legs off him, to give him some space, when his hand flips over and clasps her hand in a vice-like grip. _Don’t leave._

“No, it’s not.”

Her heart sputters out.

His hand squeezes hers even tighter as he finds the words to say, and Ingrid finds it awfully hard to breathe. Then, the gold flashes back to her and her chest constricts even further.

“You’re strong, you’re beautiful, you don’t take shit from anyone, least of all me, and you never waver from the path you set from yourself.”

Her mouth dries with denial on her lips. _That she_ has. _She_ has _strayed from her path, because she found a new one. One where they can walk together, side by side._ But the words are stuck in her throat and Sylvain pushes forward. “You’re always there for me, even when I don’t deserve it. I wake up every day wondering what I’ve done, to have someone like you in my life, looking after me and caring for me when I’ve done nothing but cause you trouble.”

“That’s not true.”

His eyes pierce through her and she gulps. “You’re always there for me. Whenever I need you, you’re there.”

Sylvain smiles weakly, and drops his head onto the couch behind him, staring at the ceiling. “Is it stupid of me to say, in a twisted kind of way, that makes me happy?”

He rolls his head to look at her, eyes blazing. “Is it stupid of me to say I _want_ you to need me? That I _need_ you to _want_ _me_ by your side? You’re more than just my friend to me, Ingrid. More than just my best friend.”

Ingrid’s entire body burns, the way he looks at her, his grip on her hand crushing, but the _last_ thing she wants is to pull away. Then, all the tension leaves his body as he sighs heavily, his hand leaving hers as both of them lift to cover his face. Her hand trembles in her lap, now with nothing to stop the shaking.

After a few more moments in tense silence, his arms come down, and his eyes rise to meet hers again. Open. Resigned. _Frightened._ And Ingrid feels her heart stop.

“You’re everything to me.”

She exhales unevenly as his finger brushes along her cheek, his smile small, eyes trailing along her face. “You know, my birthday wish was for you to stay with me.” His hand falls away from her and the loss of his warmth makes her head spin.

He laughs without humor, looking away from her. “Now that I’ve said it out loud, it’s probably not going to happen, is it?”

Sylvain moves to stand, her legs slipping out of his lap, and Ingrid launches herself at him, his jacket sliding off her shoulders. He lands back on the couch with a grunt and she’s got him pinned between her and the cushions, her arms stretching over him, caging his head so he has nowhere to look, but up at her.

She’s breathing heavily, and Sylvain remains frozen beneath her, hands hovering in the air by her hips, eyes frantically searching hers. “What are you doing, Ing?”

She doesn’t answer him, too busy trying to calm her racing heart and control her breathing, trying to ignore how the smell of him surrounds her now that she’s _so close—_

His hands finally settle on her waist, steadying her. His palms sear through the fabric of her dress and her legs tremble as his eyes bore into hers, almost pleading. She doesn’t imagine the wobble in his voice when he whispers, “Ingrid, what am I to you?”

 _She feels it._ Because it’s in her own, as her heart beats wildly in her ears. “What do you want to be to me?”

His fingers dig into her and she almost collapses into him, but she holds his stare, even with her breathing getting shallower and shallower. Sylvain stays quiet, his eyes searching her face. Then, he gulps. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

That last bit of her restraint breaks inside of her and Ingrid rushes forward, sealing her lips against his. Her hands cup his face as she leans into him and she feels him exhale sharply against her. Then, one of his arms winds around her, crushing her to him, as his other hand slides up her back, pressing her even closer.

His mouth moves with hers slowly, reverently, like he can’t quite believe this is happening. Ingrid’s hands slip into his hair as he takes her lower lip between his, nibbling gently. Her entire body _burns_ _and burns_ as his hand moves from her back to the nape of her neck, the other fisting in her dress at her hip. She pulls away with a gasp, resting her forehead against his as her lungs refill with air.

She takes solace in how Sylvain is just as out of breath as she is, if not more, with his chest heaving against hers, flush high on his face. Ingrid leans in again, pressing her lips firmly to his before withdrawing, staring him straight in the eyes. “Then be my everything.”

Sylvain stares back at her, gold glittering in his eyes, and then he’s drawing her back in, and Ingrid surrenders to him willingly. His hands are in her hair, on her back, her shoulders, _everywhere._ His lips attaching themselves to her neck, right next to the necklace he got for her. She gasps when he sits her in his lap fully, her dress riding up high on her thighs as his hands glide along the newly uncovered skin. She can’t help the moan that escapes her throat as he licks into her mouth, fingers dancing along the hem of her dress. Ingrid whimpers when he breaks away, his forehead finding a home against her bared collarbone, his hot breath washing over her skin. His fingers rub tiny circles on her outer legs, and she shifts on top of him, electricity shooting down her spine when he groans, hands flying to her hips to still her.

She feels a puff of air against her chest as he starts to laugh against her. She looks down, finding him gazing up at her, eyes dark, a new smile on his face.

Ingrid’s heart flutters and she thinks she’s found a new favorite. One that she wants to see every day. She leans down to press another kiss to his mouth, lips brushing against his. “I love you, Sylvain. I want you by my side. Always.”

His hands squeeze her thighs and they reflexively tighten around his hips. He groans again and lets his head fall back against her chest, nuzzling into her neck. “I don’t know if I should thank Dorothea… or kill her for this dress.”

Ingrid snorts and smiles, her hands threading through his hair as he breathes against her. “How did you know it was Dorothea?”

His fingers blaze along the hem of her dress and he presses a kiss to her bared shoulder, her collarbone, and to her embarrassment, the lowest dip of her neckline. His eyes flash to hers and he scoffs, “I _always_ know when it’s Dorothea.”

Her entire body tingles as he leans back and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, eyes bright and honest. _Sincere_. “I love you too, Ingrid.”

Cheeks warming, she turns her head and presses a kiss into his palm. Delighting in the blush that spreads across his face, she sidles herself closer and whispers in his ear, “You know, when _Dorothea_ picked this dress out for me, she said I looked like a little present, waiting for you to unwrap—”

Ingrid squeals when Sylvain stands abruptly, his hands moving to the underside of her thighs as he marches them to his bedroom, growling into her lips, “you can’t just _say_ things like that to me, Ing.”

He kicks his door shut and presses her up against the wall. “You’re ruining all my plans to be a gentleman.”

Her legs squeeze his waist when she reaches up to kiss him again, fingers tangling in his hair as he groans into her lips. “You know what they say about best laid plans, Sylvain.”

She tugs his head back and kisses the tip of his nose, smiling.

“Lay them to rest.”

* * *

Dorothea wakes to two different text messages that make her smile for two _very_ different reasons.

_Ingrid: thank you thea_

She types a swift message back, tacking on several kissing emojis. _Of course, Ingie! I’m happy to go shopping with you anytime. I love decorating gifts._

Her phone buzzes with a response.

_Ingrid: we didn’t do anything!! Stop that!_

She sends a winking emoji and taps open her other message. Her smile deepens.

_Sylvain: what did I tell you last time dorothea…_

Her mind flickers back to the clubbing outfit she chose for Ingrid a month ago, for her graduation party when Sylvain decked a guy across the face. She smiles fondly at the memory.

She types quickly. _I don’t hear any complaints._

And then. _In fact, I can’t hear anything over your raging_ BONER _._

His response pops up so quickly, she wonders if the two of them are texting right next to each other.

_Sylvain: B L O C K E D_

Dorothea laughs as she sees ‘ _this user has blocked you._ _you can no longer message this user’_ appear and disappear just as rapidly.

_Sylvain: I hate you_

The automated message appears and disappears again.

 _Sylvain:_ _…thank you_

Dorothea is practically vibrating with glee.

_Dorothea: of course, loverboy! You know my fees._

_Sylvain: i’m sending my hospital bill instead, thanks_

_Dorothea: aww, Ingie can’t kiss it better?_

_Sylvain: iawefashflkjash_

Dorothea laughs loudly, her heart full for her two friends, who have been dancing around each other for years.

She types out another message. Because she can.

_Dorothea: it’s ok sweetie, I’m sure she’ll give you a ring someday too. Then we can match <3._

‘ _this user has blocked you._ _you can no longer message this user’_

Dorothea smiles again and sets her phone back down.

She has a wedding to plan.

**Author's Note:**

> this story has been sitting finished on my computer for the last two weeks and it's been torture to not just post it right away... especially when I finally completed the writing of the other chapters and then [nicole_writes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole_writes/pseuds/nicole_writes) wrote me such a lovely fic...
> 
> but since this last edition to best laid plans d o e s occur on sylvain's birthday, I rushed all of my writing to make it in time (and I was early, which made the wait so much worse...), so I could release the other chapters before having this one.
> 
> nevertheless, my first series is done!! these two have been haunting my brain since September and I finally did something about it.
> 
> some callbacks to the other pieces in this entire series bc I love me some purposeful detail drops.
> 
> the [dress](https://www.lulus.com/products/pure-serenity-white-off-the-shoulder-puff-sleeve-mini-dress/1026382.html) that all my ad algorithims deemed to be appropriate for my sylvain-driven brain. they've got me pinned.
> 
> there will probably be more fics in this same modern au as one-shots! I don't know if I'll continue to upload within this series, or make a new one.
> 
> thank you for sticking around this long, especially if you've been reading since the very first mention of dopey sylvain in cotton&gauze!! may all of his (genuine) wishes come true :).


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